


Encased in Steel

by neneshell



Series: Welcome to Spectacle Island [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Feels, I don't do trigger warnings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update, Spoilers, Synths - Freeform, railroad ending, slightly deviates from canon, so there's your warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neneshell/pseuds/neneshell
Summary: A mercenary, a spy, and a former popsicle enter the capital wastes to find a boy and a bot, but what they find is a city crushed under steel boots.The Prydwen may have been reduced to ash, but the Brotherhood of Steel isn't gone. Not by a long shot.





	1. Prologue: Come Back to Me

“I just don’t understand why you’re benching me on this one, doll.”

She sighs and shakes her head without looking my way. We’d been rehashing this argument for the last several days as she made preparations for her latest adventure.

Currently she was rooting through Spectacle Island’s armory for supplies, already loaded down with three weapons: a familiar-looking .44 pistol, her personally modded six-crank laser musket, and an axe made from a tire iron. Shifting a few boxes of ammunition aside, she turns towards me at last, grinning in triumph and kneeling to slip an exceptionally sharp looking dagger into her boot’s sheath.

General Nora Elliott, my rescuer, my closest friend, my partner. I take a second to marvel at how far she’d come from the shaking, nervous woman that had been hunched over the desk in my Diamond City office a year and a half ago. The woman before me looks just as tired as she had that day, but as she draws herself up to her impressive height of 5’9”, the similarities seem to stop there. 

Her once elbow length straw-colored hair had been shaved away, and had only just recently been allowed to grow out long enough to tuck behind her ears while she worked. Fair skin had been darkened by near-constant sun exposure, with freckles gracing every inch of skin visible around her dark blue Minutemen fatigues. Childbirth had left her with a slight curve to her hips, but otherwise not an ounce of softness remained in her lean frame. Except for her eyes. The sky-blue eyes resting on him were as soft as her heart, even as her brow furrows and her lips turn down with annoyance at my badgering. 

“We’ve been over this, Nick. There’s just not enough room on Kenji’s boat, not with two more people already joining us for the return trip,” she sounds tired as she repeats the same line she’d already fed me every time we’d spoken. “Mac has to come, it’s _his_ kid we’re getting.”

“And Deacon?” I draw on the cigarette hanging from my scarred lips, wishing the nicotine did more for me than fulfil a barely-remembered habit as it fills my synthetic lungs. 

“He’s been to the Capital Wasteland before, and apparently he knows how to get around even better than Mac does. And since I technically don’t work for the Railroad anymore, he’s the one picking up the synth down there.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, brushing past me to the door. I follow her through the still morning, only the chugging of nearby turrets and the whisper of waves on the beach joining the crunching of our feet. The other residents of the island had yet to emerge from their homes, and the marketplace is quiet for once. The only other signs of life come from MacCready’s house, where a light glows softly from an upper window. 

Apparently Nora wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“Nick, listen,” her voice drops to a whisper as we enter her home and she checks her pack for the third time since she’d decided she couldn’t sleep. “According to Mac and Deacon the capital is under the control of the Brotherhood. Whoever they didn’t drag up here to battle the Institute is still there, still killing any synths and ghouls they find. It’s just not safe.”

“You think I can’t handle a few-”

“Nick,” her voice raises for an instant, and she takes a moment to calm herself and lower it again. “Nick, it has nothing to do with what you can and cannot handle. We’re going to get in there and out again without interacting with them if we can help it. It’d be pretty hard to pass under their radar with a robotic Humphrey Bogart impersonator in our midst.” 

I harrumph at her dig, readjusting the worn out fedora on my head. “I seem to remember him having a bit more hair than this,” I shoot back quietly, and a grin flashes across her lips before they settle back into a hard line. 

“Nick…” she sighs again, flopping down on the battered couch next to her kit. She gestures for me to join her, and passes a hand over her face when I remain stubbornly on my feet. When her eyes open once more, they stay pointed at the ceiling, to the bedroom overhead where her son still sleeps. 

“I trust everyone on this island. With my life. But with _Shaun’s_ life?” Those eyes find me once more, a new vulnerability there clouding them. “Only you, Nick. Only you. I need you here.” 

That did it. I feel my shoulders slump as a tired breath slips past my lips. A corner of her mouth turns up, knowing she’s finally won as I join her on the couch. Elbows on my knees, I hide my eyes behind my hands for a moment before taking a breath and looking back over at her. She’s watching me, the clouds still there in those impossibly soft eyes. Eyes that have seen the world end twice. 

I can barely fight the protective instinct telling me to insist she stay, to sit out this one and remain here on Spectacle Island where I’ll know she’s as safe as a person can expect to be since the war. To stay with me. 

I’d always known I couldn’t protect her for long. The wastes tend to chew people up and spit them out, leaving even the kindest souls that managed to survive hardened to steel. And she’s seen the worst of it, traversing every inch of the Commonwealth, seeing the best and worst of the people there. Seeing the Brotherhood and their hatred, Diamond City’s bigotry, the atrocities committed by her own son in the sixty years between his kidnapping and her escape from Vault 111. 

To pass through that hell and come out on the other side just as kind, just as willing to trust as ever, was nothing short of a miracle in my eyes. 

I’d heard of the horrors of the Capital Wastes, though. Merchants on caravans from the area described the crater that the city had become, having been bombed much more heavily than Boston. Ghouls surviving with even less skin than those here in the ‘Wealth. Different breeds of mirelurks, super mutants, and insects lurking around every corner of a city so collapsed that the only way to pass through is to traverse the feral-infested subway system. When the local fauna doesn’t threaten, slavers do, with collars that blow the heads off anyone that tries to escape.

A calloused hand on my cheek pulls me out of my troubled thoughts, and my eyes open. I don’t even remember closing them in the midst of my worrying. He fingers gently pass over the tears in my skin, unflinchingly brushing over my exposed metal jaw. Comforting me even as I sit here agonizing over _her_ safety. Taking care of the people around her, just as she always does.

“I’ll be careful, Nicky. I promise.” She leans forward, brushing back my hat and pressing a kiss to my forehead. I bring my more human hand to her cheek before she can pull away entirely, capturing her eyes with mine.

“Promise you’ll come back to us. We need you, Nora.” _I need you_ echoes in my head, not making it past my lips. The clouds in her eyes clear somewhat, still held unblinkingly in my gaze, so close our noses are brushing.

“I promise.” She says it clearly, evenly, and she closes the distance between us to gently press her lips to mine. I’m left stunned when she pulls away. She stands, seemingly unaffected except for something unidentifiable in her eyes that hadn't been there before, hoisting her bag onto her back and glancing down at my frozen form. “I’ll always come home to you, Nick.”

I stand just as she reaches the door. She gasps in surprise as I pull her back inside, into my arms, holding her flush against me.

“I’m gonna need more assurance than that, doll.” Our lips meet again, our shadows becoming one as I try to communicate everything I’d left unsaid since the moment I’d met her. Her arms slowly snake around my neck as her eyes slide closed, the kiss deepening and a sigh escaping through her nose.

A cough at the door causes us both to jump apart. Deacon stands there, all toothy grin and raised eyebrows at the spectacle before him.

“Just got radioed by the Nakanos. They say they’re ready to ship off for our location, but if you want I can tell them to wait a bit. Whatcha need, about two more minutes?” He wiggles his eyebrows at us, and Nora, blushing, shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Go get Mac, make sure he’s ready.” Deacon gives an exaggerated salute at that, retreating back into the market. 

“Nora-” I’m cut off by the crushing embrace she pulls me into.

“Just take care of Shaun, alright? We’ll be back in about a week. And we’ll talk then.” Her height lets her meet my gaze without looking up, her eyes conveying a need for me to understand.

I do.

That doesn’t make it any easier to watch the door close behind her.


	2. Dangerous Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon wants info. Nora wants Deacon to shut the hell up.
> 
> Mac just wants off this boat.

The boat cuts an impressively speedy path through a blessedly still ocean, the weather clear and the wind crisp as it travels just out of view of the coast of (what the General had called) the Delmarva Peninsula. Regardless of these ideal conditions and their safe distance from any beasts lurking along the coast that might decide to take potshots at passing vessels, three out of four passengers show various signs of discomfort. 

I was currently trying to keep my mirelurk jerky down, motion sick despite how smoothly we traversed the ocean. Something about the combination of our speed and the vast openness of the Atlantic left me sat near the edge of the ship with my head between my legs, muttered not-curses slipping past my lips every time I felt my stomach lurch. This environment was so far removed from the rocky ceiling I’d grown up under that I doubted I’d be useful again until I set foot on solid ground, preferably somewhere indoors. 

Kasumi Nakano, our ship’s captain, had kept her eyes on the navigation equipment for the last seven hours of the journey. Her inclusion in this adventure had been a pleasant surprise for the boss: Kenji was finally allowing his daughter to strike out on her own, and had allowed her to make this trip in his stead. Desperate to prove herself to her father, nervous at entering new territory, and the twitchy attitudes of her passengers equated to her hermitage in the control room. 

The boss didn’t seem bothered by the ship’s movements. Apparently she’d spent a decent amount of time at sea recently with that detective, which was how she’d come to know the Nakanos in the first place. I was grateful to her for using up the favor they owed her to help me get Duncan to the Commonwealth now that news had arrived informing me of his full recovery. 

No, what was bothering her, making her grind her teeth and cross her arms and stare pointedly at the sky was our fourth. The only one seemingly completely at ease.

Fu- _freaking_ Deacon. Did nothing phase that guy? He’d been humming to himself half the trip, shooting grins and suggestive eyebrow wiggles at the boss the other half. I had no idea what had him teasing her, but Nora had steadily gotten more wound up as the last seven hours or so passed. 

I’d seen siblings tease each other this way back in Little Lamplight, but I’d never seen a long con quite as long as the one Deacon was playing right now. He was entering dangerous territory. 

My head came up from between my legs and I looked at the pair, seeing Nora pull in a steadying breath. 

“Deacon, I swear to god if you don’t stop.”

The spy’s grin somehow managed to stretch wider: she’d finally broken and said something. Despite her vague threat it seemed he was determined to poke that yao guai right in the eye. With a very short stick. And a fresh steak taped to his chest.

“Whaaaaat? I’m happy for you. We’ve all been placing bets on when you and the detective would start sucking face like that.” I choked on my purified water at that. Holy cra- _crud_ , what the heck!? 

Nora buries her face in her hands with a groan. “Holy shit, Deacon, never say ‘sucking face’ ever again or I’m burning all of your wigs.” Deacon gasped at that, dramatically clutching his chest in agony at the thought. Nora’s hand go to her hips. “You know I know where you keep them.”

“Not true! You haven’t seen even half of my wardrobe. I happen to have a very well-hidden bunker-”

“Under the garage at the Coastal Cottage, yeah.” Deacon looked legitimately surprised at that, but his grin soon reappeared with a shake of his head. 

“Aww, your boyfriend taught you well you little sleuth. When did you find it?” I saw the boss smirk, but went back to holding my head between my legs as my insides continued their squirming.

“About three months ago. Settlers contacted me complaining about the sound of music drifting up from under their feet.” A pause, and I imagined her giving him her best “you dumbass” look. “You left the radio on.”

“Damn. I knew having the Institute gone would make me chill out on the security too much. I gotta work on that.” He laughed, all mirth even as I spat bile over the edge of the ship. “But enough dodging the topic my little sneak: how long have you and Valentine been su- together?”

A heavy sigh came from the boss’s direction, audible even over the wind. “We’re not together. We never have been.”

“Wait, you and Mr. Valentine aren’t a couple?” Kasumi picked that moment to stop pretending she couldn’t hear them from the control booth, poking her head our over where I was slumped near the doorway. “But Chase said you two were lo-”

“Hey Kasumi, how long until we’re around the peninsula?” Nora yelled the question over the end of the young woman’s question, but not before Deacon’s eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses towards the wig that I swear had to be taped to his skull to still be on right now.

“Wait a minute, say what?” His head swiveled between Nora and Kasumi in a way that made me cover my eyes as I felt a cold sweat start to drip down my neck. I felt the boss brush past me towards the navigation equipment, Deacon close behind. “Was she about to say lovers? Because if so, Tom owes me _so many_ caps. Even more if Nick has a-” 

_THWACK_ I hear a groan of pain from Deacon as he retreats, bent over slightly and massaging the middle of his chest. 

“Okay, okay.” He gasps, rubbing the spot that’d likely already be bruising. “I had that coming. Sorry pal.”

“You’re goddamned right you are!” The boss yells out of the booth, only a hint of amusement detectable under her indignation. She could never be completely mad at Deacon. Probably why he kept antagonizing her so much.

Another couple of hours pass quietly, only my own occasional groans audible over the constant breeze. We rounded the Delmarva, aiming at last for the Potomac River. We’d be closer to the shore soon, and both Nora and Deacon prepared their arms for potential danger. She’d given me a pass for now: I doubted I could hold any kind of steady aim right now, with my seasickness now being coupled with the jittery anticipation of seeing my son after so long.

Deacon had been relatively silent since the whack to his solar plexus, still grinning but occasionally touching the spot and wincing as if to stop himself from continuing his teasing. Now, however, he perked up.

“Hey, can I see your Pip-Boy for a second?” Nora looked suspicious but unbuckled the computer anyway, handing it over. “We should be close enough to pick up GNR from here. You’ll love Three Dog, I swear.” He fiddled with the dials and I found the strength to smirk.

“Travis is nice and smooth these days, but he definitely hasn’t got anything on Three Dog.” I make a weak attempt at mimicking the DJs signature howl, only to immediately regret it and return to coughing whatever liquid’s still in my guts into the water behind us. 

Deacon frowns, still twirling the Pip-Boy’s dials while Nora looks on and I return to my place on the deck. “That’s weird. I coulda sworn that was the channel.”

“Maybe the super mutants took out the dish again.” I offer with a rasp.

“Maybe…” His frown deepens when he hears a break in the static on the radio, zeroing in on the channel. 

An official-sounding woman’s voice can be heard, coming in clearer the closer their ship gets to the Potomac’s basin. Even Kasumi has joined them now, and four sets of eyes remain locked on the device. Bits and pieces come in through the static.

“Repeat: Reco --- 51-Echo to Cita --- e’ve dis --- ernate entra --- lt 87 through Little Lamp --- Locals are refusing --- ccess. Ple --- vise.”

Realization hits me and I feel the blood drain from my face. 

Kasumi looks confused. 

Nora is staring at her Pip-Boy with empty eyes.

Deacon’s staring… at me.

The Brotherhood has found Little Lamplight.

Where Duncan is.


	3. Promises and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac needs a hug. Deacon's not really a huggy guy. But he knows someone that is. Huggy, that is, not necessarily a guy... you know what, forget it.

The remainder of our journey up the Potomac is tense and silent. Nothing new comes from the Pip-boy’s radio but static. No Three Dog, no Brotherhood, nothing. Charmer stands at the ready on the bow of the ship, knuckles white from her grip on her musket, watching the sky gradually turn greener as we near DC proper.

RJ is still seated on deck, but his belly aching has stopped and been replaced by what looks like sheer panic. A part of me feels empathy for the guy. I mean, he’s sitting there practically hyperventilating and probably imagining all the horrible things the Brotherhood could do with his hometown and his son. And who hasn’t spent an unhealthy amount of time imagining untold atrocities befalling their loved ones because they aren’t there to save the day, honestly? But with your own kids involved? I’m genuinely glad I never got to be a parent, because that stuff looks _extra_ stressful.

_Hah, I’m even good at lying to myself._

I can’t help the poor sap, I’m _way_ too emotionally stunted for that, but maybe someone that’s been through this kind of panic _can_. I join Charmer on the bow of the ship, nudging her side gently with my elbow, breaking her out of whatever intense internal daydream has her glaring unwaveringly at the water. She blinks a few times, apparently having forgotten to do so for a while, and looks at me questioningly. My eyebrows go up and I nod my head towards our pale friend curled up near the control room. She glances back at him and immediately her stony gaze softens with understanding.

Her musket is pressed into my waiting hands and I take over her place while she walks unsteadily back towards the mercenary. I take a second to look at the weapon, her personal favorite apparently judging by the smooth marks on the stock and barrel matching her large hands perfectly. On the barrel the name “Mr. Zap-Zap” is carefully carved, which forces a quiet laugh out of me. Maybe she’d picked up more of my mannerisms than I thought.

 _Nah,_ I think, looking back at where she’s seated in full contact with MacCready, _She’s her own brand of crazy._ And there’s no way I’d ever be able to take care of anyone. I’d tried that before, look how well _that_ turned out.

I shake my head, looking back to the verdant horizon. I need to stop that dangerous line of thought, but I can’t help returning to it over and over. I suppose I should have expected as much, considering where we’re going.

“Tell me about Little Lamplight.” Charmer’s voice drifts up despite the wind whipping past my ears, gentle and open and encouraging. _Like a mother’s voice._ Exactly what MacCready looked for in their formerly frozen friend, whether he actively realized it or not.

“It’s… it’s in a big cave, the entrance is in the side of a cliff.” He chuckles, the sound genuine but weak. “That’s why I always told you that I’m so much more comfortable under a rocky ceiling. It’s kinda my default.”

“Oh yeahhh.” I can hear the smirk on her face. “I seem to remember you mentioning something like that once. Or twice. A day. Every day. Since I met you.” This drags a real laugh out of Mac. _Damn, she’s good._

“There’s a small town built in the caves, inhabited only by kids. But I’ve told you that before.”

“You were mayor once, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, for about two years. There are elections every year.” Mac’s voice is steady now, nostalgia and Charmer’s warm presence at his side probably calming him. “The place is inhabited by orphans… the Capital Wastes always makes plenty to keep the population up.”

_Understatement of the… well, not the century, but maybe the week. Nah, I’ll give it the whole month. Not a lot of understating has been going on lately. Can’t give him the year. That honor goes to Cait for saying that Curie’s mutfruit orchard was a little big four months ago._

“Wait, so how do kids find the place once they lose their parents?” Now _that’s_ a good question. I’d always wondered myself, from the first moment I’d walked into the place and found myself face-to-face with some rifle-toting smartass 10-year-old accompanied by about fifteen more, each more smartass’d than the last. And a pack of dogs, for some reason.

“Ah, well… word of mouth, mostly. Little Lamplight’s hard to find, and it’s a bit of a legend to most people. Most of the legends point towards Big Town, which is where most of us ended up after we turned sixteen.” He pauses for a moment, and I glance back to see his face screwed up in concentration. “I really can’t remember how I found the place. I was only six when I arrived. But I think most orphans eventually find their way to Big Town and get pointed towards Little Lamplight from there.”

“Wait wait wait.” I can imagine the look of disbelief on Charmer’s face, even as I keep my eyes steadily on the shore. “You made your way through the Wastes at just six years old? Alone?”

“Like I said, I can’t really remember it. I think…” He pauses again, voice trailing off a bit. “I think there might have been someone with me, for a while.” A frustrated sigh, and his voice regains the warble that nostalgia had all but eradicated. “Nora, I… I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happened to… to Duncan.”

“Mac.” The gentle mother is back in her voice, and another glance back shows me her arm draped around him with her other hand gripping his. “We’ll find him. We’ll bring him home. I promise.” I hold in a cringe and go back to my neglected guard post. I understand why she’s making such a sweeping promise, but it’s a dangerous one to make nonetheless. 

“Hey.” Our young captain has finally pried herself away from her equipment and joined the party. “We should be making landfall at the rendezvous point in about fifteen minutes. Get ready.” 

Charmer gives Mac one last squeeze before hoisting her rucksack onto her back, rejoining me, and retrieving Mr. Zap-Zap. The sniper stands unsteadily, but remains in place lest his stomach resume its quest to divest itself of everything he’s eaten since he was first dubbed “mungo.”

The three of us remain rooted in place, a trio of statues aboard an impossible vessel approaching a land I never dreamed I’d willingly return to.

The crumbling buildings along the coast become more frequent and the ship begins to slow. Kasumi takes over the manual controls as we navigate around half-sunken vessels. The wind dies down. The crumbled DC skyline comes into view. Somewhere in the distance, gunfire rings out.

The ship finally, _finally_ pulls up to a mostly intact dock.

  
_Home sweet home._


	4. Acid Rain

“This place looks like the glowing sea…” Nora takes in the scenery as we trek away from the shore, her musket grasped tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. I nod in agreement, glancing around the city so much more thoroughly flattened than Boston, the lack of green anywhere but the rolling sky above us, the charred logs sticking up leafless and dead from the ground. 

 

Nora told me once that being away from home had always put her on edge, even before the war. I can only imagine what venturing into new, unknown territory must feel like for her now. Even if she’d been to DC before, the city was probably unrecognizable after suffering several direct hits and 200 years of decay.

 

“Yeah, well I’m guessing the Chinese guys tasked with wiping this place off the map didn’t get last minute cold feet like good ol’ Zao did.” Deacon had taken point from the moment we left the ship, leading us west on a path that avoided most settlements and, hopefully, any Brotherhood patrols. Nora and I remained side-by-side behind him, trusting his sense of direction. The Boss’s Pip-Boy hadn’t been able to display the local map, for some reason.

 

Kasumi had protested heavily, but we’d decided that leaving the ship unattended would be a poor decision. Our best-case scenario at this point has us only engaging the Brotherhood when we reach Little Lamplight, leaving us targets for the second leg of our journey. Kasumi would meet us back at the same spot she’d dropped us at in 48 hours, if all went well. In the meantime, the young captain had retreated to a set of coordinates Deacon had jotted down and shoved into her hands. An old safe house, apparently, that he was confident of. 

 

The spy himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since we’d landed. This was the first time he’d said anything at all, actually. It was probably for the best, to be honest. Even skimming the southern border of the city as we were, avoiding the death and chaos that it always promised, the Capital Wastes crawled with horrors that matched even Far Harbor. 

 

We crest a ridge and Deacon goes stiff, his arm coming up and signaling us to cover. I see the danger as we quickly duck behind a nearby house. A centaur.

 

Speak of the devil.

 

Deacon takes a moment to think, jerking his head and leading us quietly away from the monstrosity. Both of us follow without protest: Nora, because this is an enemy she’s never encountered, and me because I’m not keen on getting near the thing. I’d nearly lost an arm once when one spit on me. I wasn’t about to relive that.

 

Once out of range, now angled northwest since we’ve passed the city, the Boss finally manages to speak again.

 

“What… the fuck… was that.” Her eyes are wide, beads of sweat on her pale forehead. 

 

“Centaur,” Deacon offers in a hushed voice, a sympathetic grimace on his face. “I had a similar reaction the first time I saw one. No mutant hounds down here in the Capital, so the supes… made their own.” 

 

“They’re really slow, and their eyesight isn’t so good, but they spit acid like a mirelurk queen. Usually they hang out with super mutants, buuuut…” I glance back to where we can still see the human centipede dragging itself around in the distance. “Looks like that one got away from the group. Hopefully.” 

 

Nora shakes her head, seeming to calm down from her revolted state, and we continue on our way. 

 

“So are there super mutants everywhere now?” Deacon shrugs at her inquiry, rubbing his forehead and scanning the horizon as we climb another hill. 

 

“They’ve been everywhere I’ve visited, but the FEV looks different in different regions. I guess it depends on who made them.”

 

“The… the Institute had a FEV lab, yeah.” Nora’s eyes go down. They always do when this subject comes up.

 

“Yeah, as far as we can tell they’re the ones that introduced the greenies up there.” Deacon’s as flippant as ever. He doesn’t like talking about the former Boogeymen any more than Nora does. “But down here, it was US Military that made them first. Down in Vault 87.”

 

Nora just nods at this new information, probably not surprised about what the government and Vault Tec would do after what her family had gone through because of them. But I was stuck on one point.

 

“Wait, hold on, how did you know about that?” I jog a little until I’m at the spy’s side, and he glances over at me with an eyebrow raised. “The only way into 87 is through Little Lamplight. And we only ever let one guy through.”

 

“Yeah, and  _ that guy _ co-wrote a little book called  _ The Wasteland Survival Guide. _ Remember? There’s an entire section dedicated to super mutants.” He smirks, that irritating devil-may-care smirk of his getting to me immediately. “Or did you never read it?”

 

“I read it!” I’m defensive now, but damn it, that guy irks me on his best days. “I just… might have skimmed parts.” 

 

“Guys…”

 

“You know, it’s really hard to lie to a liar.” His grin grows larger, and I can feel my ears growing hot in irritation. “I have a copy if you want to borrow it.”

 

“ _ Guys. _ ”

 

“Hey, I can handle myself perfectly fine out here! I don’t see why I need some manual to tell me how to shoot-”

 

“GUYS!” Nora’s caught up and inserted herself in between us. Our argument ceases.

 

“What’s up, boss?” I try to keep my irritation out of my voice.

 

“That.” She points at the sky, her words punctuated by a clap of thunder.

 

A rad storm had begun.

 

“Fuuuuck.” Deacon checks out surrounding, huffing in decision. “We’re close to Megaton. We can hide out there until the storm passes.”

 

“What? But-”

 

“We don’t have enough meds to get us through a rad storm.” Nora grabs my hand, looking me in the eye, her eyes begging for understanding. “We won’t do Duncan any good showing up with radiation sickness. Please, Mac.”

 

Those eyes. They calm me even as every instinct in me is driving me to the cave where my son could be in peril even as we stand here deliberating.

 

“The Brotherhood might be a bunch of bastards, Mac, but they don’t hurt kids.” Deacon isn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon towards Megaton, but his voice sounds sincere. “Your son will be safe while we wait out this storm.”

 

I deliberate for another moment, and another clap of thunder  that has Nora’s hair floating seals the deal. We set off for Megaton, passing through Fairfax just as the acidic rain begins to fall. We’re sprinting now, thankful for the extra lining Nora’s built into our clothes that offers protection now, but as we come up to the fortified settlement Deacon grinds to a halt and we pull aside under a nearby cliff. The spy is spitting out a string of curses.

 

“What? What’s wrong?” Nora is out of breath, confused by the spy’s behavior and using a spare shirt to towel off her head. 

 

Deacon points at a figure standing at the gates of Megaton silently, gasping for breath himself.

I see what he’s pointing at, my eyes widening in disbelief. 

 

The guard outside of Megaton is in Brotherhood power armor, not the Sheriff.

  
They’ve taken the town. 


	5. Old Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora's got questions. Deacon's got exposition.

“I don’t get it. Deacon, we already knew the Brotherhood was running the show down here. What’s the problem?”

 

We’d doubled back towards Fairfax, taking refuge from the storm in a mostly intact house. Not ideal for protection from the elements, but better than the outcropping we’d been crouched under while hiding from the patrols around Megaton. 

 

MacCready’s upstairs, getting an idea of the perimeter and likely looking for something to shoot to vent his pique at being held up by the storm. We can hear the sniper pacing from room to room, heavy steps making the old boards groan. Each  _ step step squeak  _ he causes makes my face twitch with irritation. 

 

Nick was right. This kid’s about as sneaky as a deathclaw in a church. 

 

No, wait, bad example. I’d seen a deathclaw in a church once, up in Salem.

 

Mac’s worse.

 

“Deacon?”

 

Charmer snaps me out of my internal ramblings from her spot on the dusty couch, the only intact piece of furniture in the entire house. I’d been badmouthing Mac in my head and adjusting the dial on a radio I’d managed to dig up since we’d arrived, and it takes me a moment to remember what she’d said. 

 

“Why are you surprised that there are soldiers at Megaton?” She guesses at the cause of my hesitation, one eyebrow raised in my direction. 

 

“Ah. Well.” I scratch at the back of my neck. A pointless gesture considering the pompadour wig in the way, but a good stall nonetheless. How to explain a decade’s worth of history in as few words as possible?

 

“You see, the last time I was here in this great big beautiful capital of ours, about… oh, say, four years ago? Anyway, last time I was here Maxson had just been made Elder of the Brotherhood.” I manage to avoid spitting out Maxson’s name. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he can get to me even from beyond the grave. “Up to that point, they were under the command of Elder Lyons.”

 

“Yeah, I heard that name a few times.” Nora looks thoughtful, trying to remember. Upstairs, more  _ step step squeaks  _ from RJ, making my eye twitch. I swear, if I have a headache tonight because of him I’m going to put tacks in his shoes. “He didn’t seem to be popular with the troops.”

 

“He was very popular, actually. Just not with the Brotherhood.” I grin, remembering the old man that had cared so much about the people of the Wastes. “You woulda loved him, actually. You’re two of a kind, both insanely dedicated to trying to aid the helpless villagers.” 

 

Nora grins briefly at the compliment, shaking her head anyway in denial. I watch her long fingers trace the insignia emblazoned into her sleeve. A poor choice of outfit for this undercover outing, but I can’t fault her for wanting to keep her precious collection of rednecks close. 

 

“His, uh… his daughter, Sarah, too. She was Elder when he died, but she didn’t last long.”

 

Nora’s grin dissolves, probably hearing the change in my tone. 

 

“I think I remember reading about her in the archives. She died in combat, right?”

 

I grunt noncommittally. She went down fighting alright. That little spitfire wouldn’t have gone down any other way.

 

“Always thought that was pretty vague for the death of an Elder.” It’s a leading question. I’m not going to answer. Not today.

 

“Anyway, under the Lyons the Brotherhood did pretty much what your Minutemen do. They protected the people around here from the worst the Wastes had to offer. Super mutants, deathclaws, rabid radrabbits, the Enclave, you name it. And about ten years ago they started overseeing Project Purity.”

 

Nora rolls her eyes at the name. “Knowing the Brotherhood, I’m just hoping it wasn’t some kind of attempt at purging the ‘undesirables’ out of the capital.”

 

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nahhh. Back then, they weren’t quite as bad as all that.”  _ Step step squeak. Twitch. _ Fucking Mac. “It was started up by some local scientists. They managed to purify the local water supply. The Brotherhood protected the purifier and guarded caravans delivering water to all the local settlements.” 

 

“Why not just make water purifiers like what we have up north?” 

 

“This thing didn’t just purify one little puddle. It purified an entire section of the Potomac. Made the water completely clean and radiation free.” Nora’s eyes widen at that, impressed. “But then Maxson ascended to his little throne.” I like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at not saying that little shit’s name like a curse every time it needs to pass my lips. 

 

“The guy gave us all an ultimatum.” Charmer jumps a little when MacCready appears back at the foot of the stairs, and the gunner smirks his rotten teeth at her. “Support the Brotherhood, or no water.” 

 

I nod, remembering the notices included with the shipments not even a week after Maxson’s promotion. 

 

“Basically they wanted us to pay protection fees to them, caps and crops.” I’m letting Mac take it from here as he plops down on the couch between us. I just return to twirling the dials on the radio. “Had to force all able bodied adults to sign up for a draft, too. In return they’d keep the settlements safe and continue delivering water.”

 

“And let me guess: non-humans had to go?” 

 

“Bullseye.” Mac smiles again. “No ghouls. No mutants. No synths.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question, though.” Her attention is back on me again. “Why is it surprising that Megaton has Brotherhood guarding it?”

 

“Well, not everyone just went along with what they were doing, Charmer. Rivet City and Megaton both rejected the new rules. Megaton just did trade for fresh water with a nearby vault, and Rivet City guarded their own caravans and took water directly from the river near the purifier.”

 

“For some reason Megaton didn’t get any problems from the Brotherhood after that. But Rivet City was invaded.” Mac contributes in his super helpful way. “Rivet City had bad blood with the Brotherhood ever since some Knight killed their mayor, but the Brotherhood practically demolished the entire city when they continued taking water from the purifier.” 

 

“They did  _ what? _ ” Nora’s looking between me and the sniper in disbelief.

 

“The Knight claimed the mayor was a synth. Of course, their stated reasoning was that all the water coming out of the purifier was their property. Which is why they decided to make an example out of them for defying the new rules.” Mac shrugs and leans back on the couch, still fidgeting annoyingly. 

 

“They made the Prydwyn out of the scrap. It was one hell of an example.” I sigh, only warmed by the memory of the twisted wreckage that remained at the Boston Airport today. “Anyway, last time I was here Megaton was still independent. They’d taken in most of the ghouls displaced from all the other settlements and just stayed out of the Brotherhood’s way. My best guess was that the Brotherhood just ignored them because they didn’t have anything they wanted.”

 

“Just a bunch of rusted scrap metal and a disabled nuke.” Mac snatches the radio from me while I’m distracted and starts messing with the dials while I glare at him.

 

“A nuke?”

 

“That’s why they called it Megaton. It was totally disabled years ago, though.” I know I sound dismissive, but I’m feeling antsy now without the distraction of the radio. I need something to do with my hands. “Anyway, I had hoped that they’d still be independent, especially once Maxson left town.”

 

“It doesn’t make much sense.” Mac’s fingers cease their dialing, his gaze distant. “They were still going it alone when I left, too. And that was just about two years ago.” He looks at me. “Maybe something’s happened to the vault?” 

 

Before I can even think about that, a  _ step step squeak _ interrupts us.  _ God  _ **_damn it,_ ** _ Mac.  _ I almost growl in frustration, but then I stop, staring at the sniper sat directly next to me and definitely not making floorboards squeak. 

 

Nora makes the connection at the same time as me. We rise to our feet together, drawing out weapons and peering out the windows. Mac takes the hint and put his hand on his rifle, standing slowly.

 

Not a sound is made for a moment, all three of us turning in circles to peer into the shadowed corners. Nothing but dust and a pile of bones nearby. 

 

Three firm knocks sound at the front door, causing us all to jump out of our skins. Mac more so than me, obviously. Nora looks at me briefly with a bewildered look on her face. I understand her confusion: someone was knocking politely on the front door of a supposedly abandoned house. What the hell?

 

They knock again, rattling the door, and Nora motions for us to stay still. Not that we needed the reminder. 

 

“Hello? Hellooooo? Anybody in there?” It’s a woman’s voice, sweet and naive sounding comes from the front. A shadow appears on the other side of the dusty glass, massive and hulking. Power armor. “I saw someone go in here. Does anyone need help?” 

 

She knocks again, her power armor’s gauntlet rattling apart the time-ruined hinges and forcing the door out of its frame. 

 

Two of us are pointing a gun at the woman as the dust settles and the green light pours in from behind her. 

 

I’m not one of them. I’ve been stunned since I heard her voice. 

 

“Whoopsie daisy. Sorry, sorry, I can fix that!” Her voice only gets sweeter when she removes her helmet and kneels down to pick up the fallen piece of wood, either unaware of or ignoring the firearms pointed right at her. Nora’s gun remains steady, but Mac’s drops by a fraction. I see her dark brown hair, pulled back in a tight bun, just like it was last time I saw her. The collar of her usual mechanic’s jumpsuit pokes up from the neck of her armor. 

 

The unlikely soldier stands back up, putting the door loosely back where it came from and turning back around to take us in. She looks slightly concerned by the weapons in our hands, but she keeps smiling politely. 

 

“Well, sorry if I interrupted something. I just wanted to see if you folks needed a hand with anything.”

 

Mac looks bemused, Nora outright flabbergasted. Greenish-brown eyes meet mine through my sunglasses. Sunglasses she'd sold me four yearrs ago. I finally find my voice.

  
“How’s it going, Moira?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait: had a lot of stuff going on. And I apologize for the lack of action so far. Starting next chapter, lots is gonna be happening!


	6. Torn Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira's just chock full of cheerful bad news.

_A mercenary, a Railroad spy, a Minuteman general, and a Brotherhood knight all walk into a bar…. Or at least the kitchen of an abandoned house. So, what’s the punchline?_

 

The moment Deacon had greeted her, Moira Brown had practically leaped out of her power armor, bounding across the room to pull the agent into what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable hug. I can’t recall ever seeing the man willingly make contact with anyone, and from the look on Nora’s face neither had she.

 

Deacon’s hands had hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment while the small woman tried her darndest to squeeze the life out of him before jerkily coming down to pat her on the back, signalling the end of the embrace in a way Moira had either not interpreted properly or had ignored entirely. The woman simply kept crushing his middle and babbling incoherently. Occasional words like “missed you _so so so_ much” and “thought you were _dead_ ” and “just _knew it_ ” made it through her blubbering, but not much else.

 

Nora, over her shock and amusement, finally broke the standoff after a pleading look from Deacon ( _how could she even tell past those glasses?)_ and had tapped the bawling woman on her shoulder and extended her hand for an introduction. And now, here we were, all seated on rickety chairs around most of a table while the radstorm still raged outside.

 

“Sorry about that.” Moira’s voice is cheerful as ever, if a bit rough, while she wipes any residual tears from her face. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I haven’t seen-”

 

“Deacon.” He cuts in sharply, reaching over to grip Moira’s wrist suddenly. “It’s just Deacon now.” He adds, voice softer. Nora and I exchange a glance, both our eyebrows high.

 

_Holy sh- … stuff. This woman knows his name._

 

“Oh, okay. Deacon.” The woman nods and looks thoughtful for a moment, eyes lighting up with an idea. “You know I’ve heard of Wastelanders changing their names before! I should add something about that to the next issue. Oh, can _I_ change my name? Moira Brown’s so dull, I want to be Moira Pink!”

 

“Next issue?” Nora’s brow furrows a moment. “Oh, wait, Moira Brown? You wrote the Wasteland Survival Guide!”

 

“Yup, I sure did! Just me and my research assistant.” The knight extends her hand to shake Nora’s once more.

 

“That thing saved my life so many times when I first entered the Wastes, I swear.” Nora’s practically gushing now, vigorously shaking Moira’s hand with both of hers.

 

“That’s so great to hear!” Moira’s all grins now, but her grin falters a moment. “Now, what did you say your name was again? Sorry, I don’t think I caught it in all the excitement earlier.”

 

“Nora Elliott. And this is MacCready.” She gestures to me, finally releasing Moira’s hand and sitting back down.

 

“Huh, I knew you looked a little familiar.” Nora looks confused at that, but Deacon freezes entirely while Moira starts digging in her messenger bag, still smiling happily. “Ah! Here it is.” She slaps a poster on the table.

 

Nora’s face stares up at them, drawn professionally on a wanted poster emblazoned with the Brotherhood insignia. She’s wanted for treason, aiding and abetting the enemy, mass murder, and the assassination of Elder Arthur Maxson, all for the hefty bounty of-

 

“ _Twenty-thousand caps?_ Holy _shit.”_ The curse makes it past my mouth before I can stop it, but if anyone noticed they aren’t saying anything. Deacon’s jaw is set, his mouth a grim line. Moira looks naively pleased about something. Nora’s gaze is locked on her own face, staring blankly up from the table.

 

“Yup, I made the posters myself! I’m getting a lot better at drawing people, I think. I was actually heading out to bring these to Elder Rhys like he wanted when I saw you guys.”

 

Nora’s face drains of any remaining color at Moira’s declaration.

 

“Elder… Rhys?”

 

“Yes ma’am! When he got back from the Commonwealth six months ago all alone he got fast tracked to the spot.” Moira looks around conspiratorially. “He’s kind of the only one left with any decent training. Or, at least, he was.”

 

“Fuck.” Nora’s backed away from the table and started pacing. “Fuck fuck fuck shit _fuck.”_ Moira looks confused at Nora’s tirade of bad language, but then blinks with understanding, half rising from her chair.

 

“Oh, don’t worry dear, I’m not arresting you!” Nora stops her pacing, eyebrow raising in Moira’s direction. “Any friend of, uh, Deacon’s?” She looks over at the man in question, and he nods. “Yes, any friend of Deacon’s is a friend of mine. In fact.” She snatches up the poster and tears it cleanly down the middle. “There. It was awful anyway. Your hair isn’t even that short.”

 

“I appreciate that, really.” Nora appears to be calming down, but her hands still twitch in a jittery way. “But I’m more concerned about the fact that the Brotherhood somehow managed to replace Maxson with someone _even more_ zealous and xenophobic.”

 

“Oh, he’s not all bad. Since everyone on the draft got called in to boost Brotherhood numbers, he’s lowered the charges on the water shipments from Project Purity. And he’s training all of us and even pays us wages!”

 

Seeing Nora’s ire, she quickly backtracks. “B-but hey, shove that guy, right?” She shreds the poster even more to punctuate her point. “I can help you guys out, if you want.” She turns back to Deacon. “What are you even doing back here?”

 

“We’re here for my son.” She turns to me when I answer her instead, realizing that she might know something as a member of the Brotherhood. “He lives over in Little Lamplight.”

 

“Oh… oh!” Yet another memory seems to hit her. “Then it’s great that I found you! There’s no need for you to head all the way out there at all.”

 

Before she can continue, I’ve reached across the table and grabbed her by the collar. Despite a reproachful noise from both of my companions, I yank Moira over the the table until we’re nose to nose.

 

“Where. Is. He.” I barely recognize my voice. I’ve only ever used it once before.

 

The day I went back for the ferals. The day I buried what remained of Lucy.

 

Moira’s hands are on mine, but just rest there instead of trying to get me to release her. Instead, she’s looking around for help. Nora has a hand raised in my direction, stopping any further violence, but she’s waiting for the Knight to answer. Deacon is still sat with that same squared jaw and grim expression.

 

“H-h-he’s probably at the Citadel. They all are.”


	7. Shush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Hancock have a heart-to-coolant pump.

Times like this, I can almost pretend the war never happened. 

 

It’s dark, but the warm glow of the street lights Nora had installed around the main square creeps in through the windows. They’ll automatically turn off to conserve power in about an hour, on for the time being to allow shop keeps to return to their homes safely. 

 

Conversation and even laughter, remarkable and lighthearted and beautiful all on its own, reaches my ears, along with the gentle shush of the ocean. A radio is playing a few houses away, Magnolia’s crooning voice beckoning men and women alike. Only the distant hum of a turret betrayed the true nature of it all. 

 

Shaun is already asleep upstairs, amazingly; he’d exhausted himself playing baseball with Nat and a few other settlers earlier. I remember the first time his mother had shown him how to play after he’s met Moe Cronin and gotten the wrong idea about the pastime. 

 

_ “No red-blooded Bostonian should ever be ignorant of baseball.” She’d glanced at me after she’d said that, and then amended. “Or black-blooded either.”  _

 

_ “It’s actually green going in. Just turns black over time.” I’d smirked in Nora’s direction and happily assisted her in educating the young man in the proper procedure of the game _ . He was a natural, taking to it like a fish to water. 

 

That had been less than a month following the destruction of the Institute. The first time I’d seen her smile since Cambridge had gotten a new crater. Seemed to be doing a lot less of that these days, actually. 

 

Not that I could blame her. Not after what she’d told me that night in Far Harbor a month ago, those Whiskey bottles strewn about, tears sliding down her cheeks. The first tears I’d seen her shed in the entire time I’d known her. 

 

_ “Please, please don’t hate me. Please.” _

 

My eyes jerk open and I sit up in a rush, looking around. If I’d had a heart, it would be thundering in my chest right now, my half-sleeping delusion allowing Nora’s voice to echo in my ear as if she’d been right in front of me again. Curled up and intoxicated, begging me to understand. 

 

I heave a sigh and stand. I need a cigarette and despite the synthetic nature of the child resting above me, I can’t bring myself to smoke around him. Never feels right, that. I suppose the Institute oughta pat themselves on the back for that one. 

 

Of course, I have no issues indulging my favorite vice around the lout sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the front porch and a canister of jet in hand. He’d likely never even notice.

 

“Ayyy, Nicky! How’s my favorite dick doin’ tonight?” He leans back, hat askew, already half out of his gourd by the looks of it. Which was saying something, considering the individual. A grin is plastered on his face, eyes narrowed in a salacious leer. “Y’lost me some caps, y’know that?”

 

I can guess why, but I hope I’m wrong. “How’s that, John? Didn’t scare anyone away from the Death Bunny recently ‘s’far as I could tell.” The words drift out along with the smoke from my synthetic lungs, which I may or may not have intentionally sent in the direction of the loitering ghoul. He doesn’t wave it away, letting it drift up the crevices of his face and over the rim of his tricorn. 

 

“Nahhh, the bar’s doin’ s’great s’ever.” He leans back, his bottom getting close enough to the edge of the deck that I reach over to prevent his potential fall out of instinct, only to find him positioned as gracefully as a cat and, somehow, grinning even wider my way from his new place sprawled out on the boards. “No no no, Nicky, you’ve managed to lose me a bet. About you and ol’ Elliot.”

 

I don’t reply, taking a long drag from my cigarette instead as I set my gaze resolutely on the distant shore. I knew this was coming. I had just hoped Deacon would have waited until he got back to start it. 

 

“Y’see, I bet that you two would have finally gotten around to that first kiss, oh, more than a year ago. Hell, I figured you two’d be steady by now, what with the way you look at each other.” I look back at him, surprised, finding the ghoul gazing up at the stars. “But noooo, you two had to be all kinds of adorable ‘n shy ‘n damaged ‘n shit and dragged it right the fuck out.” He’s looking at me again, an amused glitter in his black eyes. “S’now I’m out 400 caps. Thanks a helluva lot.” 

 

I don’t want to answer. I  _ shouldn’t  _ answer. It’s none of his business. No amount of ego or ire or desire to finally talk to  _ anyone _ about whatever the hell this is and what’s happened between the two of us should drive me to answer. No amount of trust or history of camaraderie and friendship or mutual respect or-

 

“It seems to me,” My gaze is on the horizon again and my voice is low, barely audible over the gentle white noise of the ocean. “That the lot of you are making a lot of assumptions about what Deacon may or may not have seen.”

 

“A HA.” The ghoul’s upright like a whip, triumph all over his skinless mug despite my urgent attempts to shush him. “I never mentioned Deacon! So, it’s true.” My waving hands still, outdone so easily by a junkie. The shame. 

 

The mirth on Hancock’s face fades a little when I stand. “Good night, John.” I take a moment to dust some sand off the hem of my coat before heading for the door, doing my best to ignore his attempts to stop me. That is, until his entire arm bars the doorway.

 

“Come on, Nicky, I’m happy for you.” His other hand is on my shoulder, attempting to guide me back to the edge of the porch despite the glare I’m shooting his way. “You know I’m a sap for romance, I want to hear all about it. And I’m willing to bet you ‘n’ Nora ain't even talked about it yet.” He’s got me there, and a sigh rips its way out of me as I’m lead to the spot we’d just abandoned. 

 

His high must be wearing off already, because he’s as steady on his feet as I am sober. Or maybe he’s just that used to being this far gone.

 

He’s looking at me expectantly, but I have no idea where to begin. After a moment, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

 

“So, you two kissed.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Was that the first-”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Huh.” I tap another cigarette out of the box in my chest pocket, grudgingly offering one to the ghoul next to me when he makes doe-eyes at me. “Well…”

 

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. I’m not going to make this easy for him. It’s definitely not easy for me.

 

“When’d this start?”

 

I take another long drag, letting the ashes sit on the end and drift off with the sea breeze instead of tapping them. “Gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, John.” The ghoul snorts, guessing my game.

 

“First kiss? ‘Bout a year and a half ago, right?”

 

_ The light glinting off the river, once full of commerce and ships and now as empty as I feel. They’re all dead. Jenny, Nick, now Eddie. The bullet holes at my feet as I finally tell her the entire story, the reason I dragged her across half the Commonwealth. How the Institute created me. Why. _

 

_ Her stepping closer. Closer to me, to the gray skin and metal bones and glowing eyes and never flinching. She never flinched from me. Not once.  _

 

_ She’s so beautiful, how could she stand to be so near to me when I’ve bared the whole ugly truth. She could destroy me with a word, with a look, she- _

 

_ Her lips on mine, and my eyes opening again. I barely remember closing them. I don’t move. I can’t. I can’t banish this illusion. The soft pressure of her lips vanishes, but she doesn’t back away. All I can see is blue. _

 

_ “Was that okay?” _

 

“Nick?” I snap out of the memory.

 

I don’t want to. 

 

_ God _ , I miss her.

 

“How’d you know?.” I catch a smirk on Hancock’s face out of the corner of my eye. 

 

“ _ Someone’s gettin’ their caps baaaaack _ .” He whispers in a singsong voice, and I glare at him harder than before. “I didn’t know.” He takes a deep drag off his cig, blowing smoke rings towards the moon. “But I  _ did  _ happen to see you two walk into town with her all red faced and nervous back after the both of you vanished for a couple weeks.” 

 

His last smoke ring is aimed at me, framing the grouchy face I see reflected in his eyes. “I’m not s’good at math, but I can put two and two together. Which reminds me,” He pulls a piece of much-abused paper out of an interior pocket of his coat. “Fahr owes me some caps too, now.”

 

I huff in disbelief at the length of the document, dispelling the last of the smoke ring lingering at the edges of my hat. “Seems no one in this city can mind their own damn business.”

 

“Not when it comes to the two of you.” He’s produced a pen from out of the depths of his coat as well, and is making notes while he talks. I don’t bother reading the names listed there. I’m not that willing to be annoyed with everyone I know.

 

“Now, back to more important topics.” The list and pen have both vanished once more. He’s looking at me, an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face. “I really am happy for you. Anyone deserves to find some happiness and love in this fucked up world, it’s you two.” My ire melts. Staying mad at Hancock has always been a challenge. He’s too genuine for it. “Now,” he flicks away the butt of his grey tortoise, pulling another container of jet out of nowhere and giving it a shake. “Tell me how y’fell for the most powerful woman in the ‘Wealth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Hancock's the kind of guy that's an absolute sucker for cheesy romance. Or maybe I'm projecting, because I'm absolutely that person. At the same time I feel like he'd be the kind of guy that could get anyone to talk about said cheesy romances.


	8. Ruin in the Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been absent for so long! Not only did I move at the end of July, but then I had to attend meetings to plan a city-wide festival which just ended the day before yesterday. It has been a hell of a few months, for real. But I'm back now and I can finally work on this again!

When I’m like this, I can almost pretend the war never happened. 

 

Not that I was even there for the war. The Great War, at least. You get around as much as I do, you see a lot of war-like things anyway. Maybe even participate once in a while. But compared to the cataclysm that caused this mess in the first place, it feels wrong to outright call those things war. 

 

Here, hidden away in my nest atop a partially crumbled building, I ironically find that peace. Despite the familiar weight of the sniper rifle alongside my prone form, despite the destruction that stretches as far as the eye can see (which is admittedly not very far thanks to the constant presence of dust permeating the air), despite the nature of the job I’m doing, the quiet comforts me. I don’t feel the need to fill it with a lie or a joke. Only the anticipation of what’s to come. 

 

We’re situated on the Southwesternmost edge of the city proper, lying in wait for the group Moira promised would be heading this way before we sent her back into Megaton. She might have been useful in a fight, but there was just no way I could let her tag along.

 

Not with how much she knows.

 

I glance at another building nearby, only barely making out MacCready’s hidey hole because I know where to look in the first place. I know I should trust them more. Hell, when it comes to Charmer, I do. I’ve told her more than anyone needs to know about me, or at least as close to the truth as I could muster.

 

But the person Moira remembers, the one she almost named aloud? I’m just not that guy anymore.

 

_ Let him stay dead.  _

 

The distant baying of a brahmin brings my eye back to my scope. Sure enough, around the side of a building comes a pair of them pulling an entire wagon behind them. And escorting the supplies are-

 

“Bingo.” I barely whisper the word as I spot two fully-armored Brotherhood knights. My finger goes to the trigger of my rifle, but I can’t open fire. Not yet. 

 

The escort suddenly comes to a halt, one of the knights putting a hand to their helmet as if listening for something. I know what they’re hearing. It’s coming in clearly on my own nearly-muted radio. A repetitive, constant chirp. 

 

A Brotherhood distress pulser. 

 

The soldier swings his head from side to side like a predator scenting for food. Honing in on the signal, no doubt. Finally, he settles on a building further up the street. He holds up one hand, slowly making his way towards the source of the pulse, leaving his companion behind to guard the caravan.

 

_ Not ideal, but that’s what plan B is for after all.  _ I cover up my rifle and shoot a laser pointer briefly towards Mac’s position. A signal to stay put and wait. A click and a hum later and I’m concealed entirely to anyone who doesn’t already suspect I’m there. 

 

Sneaking out of the building is simple. Getting to the caravan, child’s play. Getting around the brahmin? Now that’s a challenge. Animals never seem to be fooled by stealth boys for long, probably owing to the device’s inability to cover smell. So many would-be assassins and thieves fail to account for such things. 

 

For a professional like myself, however, it’s a mere matter of staying downwind.

 

_ Step,  _

_ step,  _

_ avoid a tin can,  _

_ creep,  _

_ step,  _

_ check wind direction,  _

_ step,  _

_ step,  _

_ Annnnnd- _

 

My hand closes around a power core which I promptly twist and yank out of its casing. The shocked shout of the Brotherhood soldier rings out at almost exactly the same time as another round of shouting from his friend’s position a half a block away, in a moment of poetic timing that I’d honestly stop to appreciate were it not for said soldier immediately swinging around in a clumsy attempt to tackle me. 

 

With his feet tangled in his power armor, however, he doesn’t get far before he sprawls to the ground. I spare a thought for how new he must be to the force before a shot rings out, cutting his life short before he can even lift his head enough to look at my now-revealed face. Gray matter along with bits of flesh and bone spray outward, combining with my sudden appearance to give the brahmin what might just be the shock of its poor cow life. 

 

“That caliber might be a little big for a mission like this, buddy.” I glance up, seeing Mac peering down at me. He doesn’t answer, his remorseless face vanishing back into the building, probably coming this way. I turn my attentions to the baying pack animal at my side, holding up both of my hands in an attempt to pacify the beast. 

 

I’m still doing my best to get the two-headed affront to nature to calm down when I hear the hissing of power armor hydraulics behind me. I don’t bother looking, such is my faith in my partner. Or maybe such is my faith in my own plans.

 

“He give you any problems?” Instead of answering right away, she reaches out and grabs the reins attached to both heads of the brahmin, pulling the heads together and holding them still long enough for them to get their bearings again. Their breathing slows down eventually, apparently finding comfort in each other. She always has had a way with animals I simply couldn’t ever master. 

 

“She, and not much.” Nora’s voice is distorted by the mic in Moira’s helmet, but there’s no doubt that it’s hers. “I already sent Mac back to get the armor. And you?”

 

“Might be a little clean-up to do.” I force myself to look back at the mess the soldier’s head had left behind. “But the armor’s otherwise undamaged.”

 

“Do we even have time for a clean-up?” Nora’s gauntleted hands flex open and closed as she crouches to inspect the blood-spray decorating most of the backside of the armor. “Maybe we can just say we ran into some raiders.”

 

“Have you even seen a raider since we got here?” Nora looks up at me from her kneeling position, considering my point. “And we do have time. I’m about 90% sure that this caravan wouldn’t be reporting into the Citadel for another day at least.”

 

“And how is it you know that?” Mac’s voice comes out of the second undamaged suit of armor, now within hearing distance of our murder scene.

 

“Moira told me. Obviously.” I raise an eyebrow in his direction in a challenge, hoping he can even see it. The man was always a little too short for power armor, but hey, growing up almost exclusively on junk food in a cave will do that to you.

 

I hear a huff from his helmet, but he doesn’t comment further. The brahmin seems to be content now with just pulling some long dead grass from between cracks in the concrete, its steady chewing the only noise besides the constant breeze blowing between the crumbling artificial landscape.

 

“Well.” I pull myself into the bloodied armor easily, though not without some measure of discomfort. “Let’s hide this guy and get moving, shall we? We have a party to crash.” 


End file.
